Dreaming of Vermont

February flakes are as big as saucers here
and so white and soft we forget
we are not in a dream where we have a life in Vermont.

In that dream there would be chickens and a garden.
The white picket fence would never need painting
and would only keep the dogs and deer out.

We are all smiling and wear smocks and pressed aprons.
Boys know how to mend a lost button
Girls get to ride their blue bikes to school every day
with no fear of being flattened by careless semi drivers.

We are not medicated.
We do yoga because we like it.
We are kind to elders.
We are vegetarians most of the time.
Bread is crusty and cheese is local.

In the morning I will pick up my shovel again
and scrape the walks clear of all that gathered in the night,
pretend it didn't happen, and bless the sky for every fresh feather.